Dances With Demons - A Phoenix Chronicle Novella Read Online Free PDF Page A

the plane went on and the flight attendant announced breakfast.
    “We will land in Dublin in an hour where the local time will be just after noon.”
    Quinn had not only had enough mileage for my ticket but also an upgrade to business class. I’d enjoyed the extra leg room, despite my lack of leg. I’d taken a short walk through the plane before the movie had begun, and those in coach were packed like fish in a barrel. Not that I’d ever seen any fish in a barrel, but I could imagine. Better now than ever before.
    When I’d returned to my seat, I’d enjoyed several glasses of complimentary red wine, which might explain why supper and breakfast had seemed so close together. I’d snoozed my way across the Atlantic.
    As I exited the plane the promised hour later, with no bag but the one on my shoulder, I reached the exit well ahead of the crowd. Only when I stepped into the hazy sunlight did I remember that I had no idea where I was going. A friend of Quinn’s was supposed to meet me. I had no idea who that was, and it occurred to me now to wonder how this friend would recognize me.
    Tiny redhead with blue eyes? I glanced around. There were about a million of us.
    “Hell,” I muttered. What if no one picked me up? I had no contact information—not a name or phone number—no money except American—and not much of it—and my only credit card was maxed out.
    I returned to the airport terminal. Comfy chairs surrounded a coffee shop, bordered by a bar with less comfy chairs. I’d just camp out in one or both until Quinn came. Hopefully, that would be before I was required to purchase anything. Maybe there was a place to exchange dollars for whatever they used here.
    “Mrs. Murphy?” I turned, along with half a dozen other women. Murphys in Ireland were apparently as plentiful as redheads. “ Megan Murphy.”
    The others lost interest. Which was unfortunate, because one of them might have given me a hint as to the location of whoever was calling my name. I couldn’t see him.
    “Is there a Megan Murphy here?”
    “Yes!” I lifted my hand as if in a classroom.
    The crowd now bunched at the exit shifted. Shoving ensued, followed by a few Gaelic curses. I recognized them from the times Quinn had dropped things. Then a little man popped free. He resembled one of those troll dolls that had freaked me out as a child. Squishy face, large shiny dark eyes and red-blonde hair that stood straight up. At least it wasn’t a migraine inducing shade of neon. Did he have a jewel in his belly button? One glance at his expression convinced me not to ask.
    He strode over to stand directly in front of me, although strode wasn’t the right word. Strode was for long-legged, large fellows. The top of this man’s head barely reached my collarbone, which meant his stride was more of a mince, though I wasn’t going to mention that either.
    He carried a box under his arm. From the way his biceps—revealed by the torn off arms of a very dirty T-shirt—bulged, the thing was heavy. Why hadn’t he left it in the car?
    “I’ve been callin’ ye for nigh onto a minute,” he snapped.
    “I... uh... sorry.”
    “Come along. I don’t have all day to be dallyin’.”
    He headed for the crowd he’d just popped out of. When he reached them and elbowed through without a word of pardon, I hung back, unwilling to follow in the wake of his rudeness.
    “Keep up or be left behind,” he shouted.
    I kept up, though I murmured excuses and apologies all the way.
    A Fiat, that was nearly as tiny as he was, idled at the curb. That would not be allowed in America. No unattended vehicles at airports. Did they have that rule here? No other car idled at the curb, but the security officer stood several doors down and didn’t appear to care. In truth, he didn’t appear to see us, which was strange, but lately, what wasn’t?
    I stepped toward the passenger door, only to be shouldered aside as my companion went there himself. When he opened the door, I